There's a funny little bubble of glee mixing in with the irritation that drives Persephone as she stalks down the hallways of Olympus. Her husband's son has made his presence known, summoning skeletal soldiers to do his bidding, and the underworld has been thrown into chaos. Shades clamour endlessly, fearing being called into battle against their will, while others bay for blood at the gates. The throne room has been filled to capacity all day with the ghosts of once-great men seeking audiences, and she's only just gotten away. Naturally, her husband made himself scarce after claiming the boy, and so she's forced to deal with the fallout by herself.

She really should be used to it by now but with every new setback, a fresh wave of irritation rises in her. Between her husband and Ares, she spends most of her time picking up their messes, and she's had quite enough.

She rounds a corner, finding herself in a space she hasn't visited since her abortive attempt at stealing the Lethe-touched compass. Once upon a time, she would have been flustered, remembering kisses and the embarrassment of being caught with a stolen item, but not now. She's too intent on giving Ares a piece of her mind.

Making no effort to knock, she swings the door wide and settles herself against the frame. Her arms cross across her chest, and she tosses her mussed curls out of her eyes as she announces her presence with a sharp smile on her lips.

"You've made a fine mess of things this time, Ares," she chirps, studying the space before her. It's as neat and spare as she remembers, though its resident is conspicuously absent. It's of little importance because she knows he's heard her use his name. He'll come and investigate, so it's merely a matter of waiting for him to arrive and then making him aware of her displeasure.

With another toss of her curls, she crosses from the door to the chaise lounge and perches on the end. She crosses her legs primly and smooths her skirts over them, knotting the hem to expose her calves.

If nothing else, she might as well make herself comfortable. It wouldn't be unlike him to make her wait, and she's hardly in the mood to make things easy for him. Her legs seem to be a distraction for him, and she's not above baiting him to throw him off.

The once pristine armour that had been shiny and a thing to be envied now was nothing more than a ruined piece of slag metal upon the scorched stone it lay on. The wrath of the currently fuming war gar had vented his displeasure at it in a fit of rage. There was much destruction as evidence of his mood. Knuckles white from the grip they held on the wooden table there was a slight ominous cracking sound from the continued pressure being applied from the slightly hunched figure over the scarred surface. His tenebrous gaze intent while his mouth was a set in a hard line.

It had been going so well. Ares had gone and set up one of his ancient gauntlets and sent an untried child of his through it. There was much entertainment for the god while the offspring of said deity was likely not deriving any amusement what so ever from this 'test'. In the end the demigod had been awarded by being acknowledged as a child of Ares and all that went with it. He had even contemplated bequeathing the brat with an item.

Everything had been going well. The elder of Hades' brats even after joining the Huntresses had died causing the younger one reveal his heritage. It had forced his dear old uncle to claim the boy and put his protection on him when he went to the underworld. Doubtless to do what mortals usually did and try and plead for the death of a loved one to be returned. While he was ecstatic to cause the god of the underworld problems something tried to prick at him stating that it would cause a certain other deity issues as well. Having effectively been able to dismiss such things early on, Ares once again brushed it aside.

Then the dreaded spawn had been discovered. Not only had Ares' bane been found, but Aphrodite had discovered that her lover had a hand in the brat's disappearance all those years ago. It had all gone downhill from there.

Hearing his name and feeling the pull, the god tuned in and heard the sentence that came along with it. Gracing the woman with his presence, he appeared in his usual leather arraignment plus his ever present sword, hand casually resting on the hilt belying the dark emotions that were swirling just beneath the surface. Attitude on full display, his eyes narrowed at how natural and at ease she appeared in his room.

It takes a little less than a minute for Ares to appear before her, clad, as always, in leather with a hand on the pommel of his sword. He hardly seems happy to see her, with his jaw set and eyes flashing in agitation, and 'thrilled' is not the right word to describe how she feels about being here. She's frustrated to the point of almost feeling giddy, and his mood only heightens her feelings. If he thinks he's not in the mood, then he has another thing coming.

"Evidently not," she says, greeting him with a grin that's all teeth and sharp edges. "Neither am I and yet here I am after several very long hours of meetings with almost every shade in the underworld."

She leans back on the heels of her hands, tilting her head to consider him. She has to admit, she is curious about what it took to put the normally unflappable god of war into such a foul mood, but she also knows that it must have been something major. If it's major for Ares, she wants nothing to do with it. She's out of her depth often enough as it is.

"Care to take a guess at what has the shades all up in arms?" She arches an eyebrow, tapping one fingernail against the upholstery. The action produces a soft scratching sound, but she can't be bothered to stop. If it irritates him, all the better. "Humour me."

The response to the goddess' ire was for the war god to match her smile with one of his own save there might have been some dark humour in it. "What, is your husband not up to the task?"

While it might not have been common knowledge it was rumored that Persephone dealt with the dead as much as her husband while she cohabitated with him. Her statement confirmed those speculations. "And here I thought you were the passive one while my uncle played with the dead."

There was no hiding the fact that Ares' eyes hadn't strayed from the reposed woman. He knew she had done so on purpose. It pleased yet annoyed him in equal amounts. They both knew her game and neither were above taking advantage and playing along. It was true he liked a challenge. It was also true that he could be equally turned on by a woman's defiance as well as her acquiescence. This particular dance with Persephone was always enjoyable.

"Am I mistaken," Ares asked when ordered because despite how it was phrased, they both knew her statement was a demand. "Or is this not my room?"

Striding over to where she lounged, he stopped just out of reach. His lip curled up in a cold smirk. "I give the orders here."

Her lip curls at his implication. She might not be outwardly involved in underworld affairs, but she's in the audience chambers just as often as her husband; more frequently now since her husband has gone to ground in one of his temples. It's hardly 'play', and she's suddenly seized by an urge to grab Ares by the ear and drag him down to the underworld to see how he likes playing diplomat with irascible, panicked shades.

He steps in, a smile that's almost a snarl on his lips, informing her that he gives the orders here. Her stomach flips, but she ignores it. He's posturing, and she's angry enough that she doesn't give a damn where they are.

"Good for you. I don't care." The tone of her reply is haughty, punctuated by a toss of her curls. She's had quite enough of him pulling her strings, and she's certainly not about to back down and let him order her around.

"You see, dear Ares, I'm here about the mess you made." Her gaze snaps up to his, her brown eyes locking into his in a refusal to give him a single inch of leeway. " Since you've happily mucked about with my realm, it's only fair that I can do as I please in yours."

She laughs, the sound sharp with irritation, and sits up to prop her chin in her hand. "I never thought you were the kind to be so sloppy."

At the goddess' tone and manner his lips curled up without his knowledge. He likes when she's fiery and contrary to her demure nature. It had been a privilege to have witnessed her come alive even if it had taken an eon or two. The side she so rarely showed. He had known there was a spark in her. The sight of her and the thrum he could feel from her anger ignited something in him. At the moment even as he admired and got a thrill from it, Ares was annoyed and insulted.

"Excuse me?" He scoffed highly irate. "Pray tell, how is whatever crises you're going through my mess? And I am not sloppy."

Ares took pride in his schemes. They may not work out exactly to plan, but close enough. He felt slighted at her insinuations. It took guts to come and accuse the war god in his own room.

"Contrary to what you think, higness. I don't plot out ways to make everyone in Olympus miserable." It was just a happy accident when that occurs when he was actually putting other plans in motion. This time he was relatively sure he was innocent. Scowling, he stated "I have my own problems at the moment. So if we're done?"

His lips curl, adding an oddly amused tilt to his previous expression. Her stomach flips again, but she sets her jaw against the uneasy sensation and carries on.

"You mean the crisis caused by the two demigods that you threw into the mix of Olympian chaos?" She asks innocently, eyes flashing as she taps one finger against her cheek. "Sounds pretty sloppy to me."

For a god that claims to be something of a strategist, she has a hard time believing he didn't see this coming. Any son of her husband would likely have some ability to raise the dead, which would invariably result in pandemonium in the underworld. Could it be that the god of war is losing his touch?

Him? Not plotting to make everyone else's lives difficult? She can't help but laugh at the thought, and she has to lean forward and cover her mouth to stifle her mirth enough to be able to speak.

If there's one thing she's certain of about Ares is that he's almost willfully unaware of what the consequences of his actions might be for anyone but himself. It's plain as day, given his indifference to the crisis in the underworld, and she isn't surprised in the slightest.

"Is that so?" She giggles, hiding her amusement behind her hand. "I thought that was the goal - everyone else suffers while Ares comes out on top - but clearly I was wrong."

She lets her hand fall, giving him another sharp grin. "My apologies. I wasn't aware you were having a bad day," she mocks.

The god's eyes narrow at her enjoyment of what he was sure she was mistaking as getting one up on him. Inwardly he scoffed. Giving her a mock offended look he stated, "Oh, no my dear. It was your husband who 'threw them into the mix of Olympian Chaos'."

Dark amusement played across his feature. "I merely hinted that a different group of demigods should bring the poor unclaimed kids to their camp."

It had been delightful seeing his father's expression and fury when it became undeniable he'd have to claim Tobias' twin. And the youth's anger and unforgiveness towards their shared father was sublime and had put Ares on cloud nine.

"Because of that little change, none of them were lost. It wasn't on my watch that got one of your step-children killed. That would have been a certain sea-god's child."

In Ares' mind it wasn't his fault at all. He hadn't been the one to select the brats for the quest that got Hades' daughter killed. Nor had been the one to toss aside godly forged metal automatons. That had been Hephaestus who didn't care where his scrap metal ended up when he tossed it from Olympus. Never mind that he still seethed and wanted to see the brat dead.

Giving her a sneer at her snark, Ares fingered the pommel of his sword. "That might be the goal when its something I actually want and plan."

This, hadn't been his planning. Yes, the brat had outed himself as Hades' get. That would have come eventually. Ares had planned for that. None of that concerned him. If Persephone hadn't done anything to prepare, that was on her. He had given her plenty of warning, had he not? She knew that her step-children were on their way to that blasted camp.

Her mirth quickly turns to annoyance as he scoffs, smoothly assuring her that it wasn't his fault but her husband's. He's not entirely wrong - her husband is deserving of blame in all of this too - but his denial that he had anything to do with the mess she's been left to clean up grates on her.

There's no sense arguing it with him anymore. Short of a lightning bolt to the skull, nothing will make him see sense, and she presently lacks the patience to bother carrying on.

However, something that he says catches her notice, and after considering him for a moment she gives him a bright grin.

"So you didn't see this coming?" she asks sweetly, tucking her fingers in to make a fist on which she rests her chin. "How novel."

He's toying with the pommel of the sword belted to his hip, and her gaze flicks briefly over to his fingers and then back to his ever-changing eyes. She knows he wouldn't dare draw it on her, but it still puts her guard up. She's playing with fire at the moment, and she wouldn't be a proper Olympian unless her sense of self-preservation was reasonably strong. Don't do anything overly stupid, she reminds herself, returning her attention to Ares' perceived slip.

"Is that what's got you in such a foul mood?" She simpers, struggling to keep amusement from spoiling the effect of her mockery. "Losing your touch?"

At her mocking, there wasn't a doubt that was what she was doing, Ares' eye twitched. No, he hadn't planned on his uncle's wife paying him a visit and accusing him. The unrest in the Underworld? That was bound to happen sooner or later. The time table might have been pushed up with the war god's interference. They had already gone over that after their tryst in Persephone's room. Scowling, he debated if it was worth arguing.

There was a nasty retort ready on his tongue to lash out and slice her like a whip; until she unknowingly jabbed the right place to have his jaw clack shut. Oh, she might have done so accidentally, but she had touched upon a very sore spot. Unconsciously his hand clenched the hilt until the knuckles were white. Rage and fury encompassed his entire being for the span of a minute until it was ruthelessly squashed until only a hint of it remained in his stance and upon his features. Only his cheek muscle spasmed as he collected himself further. Reminding himself that although she inadvertently hit upon a collected reason for his current emotional state, she was far from the actual truth.

"Careful, highness . You don't want to wade into the deep end if you don't know how to swim."

For an instant, her mockery dies on her tongue. His eyes flash and his jaw snaps shut so tightly that a muscle in his cheek begins to twitch. It seems she really has hit a nerve this time, and for a split second, she wonders if he might actually use that white-knuckled grip on his sword hilt to strike at her.

He masters himself, and she considers him. Her grin is gone, replaced with a carefully neutral expression. So, he really is concerned with losing his touch. But what could be serious enough to concern him this much? Nothing good, but she's come this far already. She might as well press on and see what fresh hell the deep end can supply.

"What better way to learn?" she replies evenly, reverting to her former posture of leaning back on the heels of her hands. She shakes her curls out behind her shoulders and braces herself, preparing herself for the fact that whatever comes now might just lead to her undoing. If it's big enough to worry him, it's certainly big enough to crush her.

But she might as well go out with a bang.

"Go on then," she says, splaying her fingers against the soft upholstery under her hands and tipping her chin up. "Drown me in whatever it is that's bad enough to make the god of war lose his temper."

For a moment, he's tempted to reply with something that might have her leave his room in that temper of hers that he admires. Yet, she has come to show that she was unpredictable just as she was doing now. The fact that she was making herself comfortable in his room after she had summoned him was very very bold. She made such an inviting picture and he was oh so tempted. The only thing that reined him in was how she would possibly react to the news.

Considering her, he let out an angry huff. She was going to find out sooner or later due to the Olympian grapevine. If the two were still on speaking terms, Persephone would hear it from Aphrodite. It was only a matter of time on that score. Sneering he stated, "You'll probably enjoy this. I doubt it will be long before you're informed. Our ugly brother will be overjoyed," he spat.

A disgusted and angry snarl curled his lip as his simmering anger began to try and surface more. It came out practically as a growl. "Her mongrel brat was found."

Ares was sure that the goddess wasn't going to be on his side during this. If anything she'd be on Aphrodite's. The truth was, he wasn't sure how this was going to play out now that the kid had been found. While he reveled in chaos, this was one such incident he would rather avoid. It complicated things and he wasn't even sure if the Fates knew what the kid would bring to Olympus.

Her brows draw down and together the more he speaks, informing her that she and the god of smiths will likely enjoy whatever it is that's bothering him so. Certainly, she and Aphrodite talk, as friends do, but she hasn't the faintest idea why news from his lover might anger him this way.

Until he spells it out for her and her eyebrows almost disappear into her hairline. She knew Aphrodite had had a son once, though as far as she knew the child had disappeared without a trace. Her friend had been devastated, terrified for her son, but nothing had ever come of it.

Until now, evidently.

"Do try and contain your enthusiasm, Ares," she says, half to herself as she considers the new information. The child -presumably grown - is an unknown entity, and she's not sure whether to be overjoyed for her friend, or wary of the unknown.

"A miraculous discovery," she murmurs, studying the snarl that curls his lips back from his teeth. "And yet you don't seem to be pleased on your keeper's behalf."

She purses her lips, tapping her index finger against the seat beneath her. He has no fondness for the child, that much is abundantly clear, though she's not entirely sure why. Perhaps it's the child's parentage - Aphrodite and someone that isn't him - that irks him, but she fears to pry too far and bring his barely contained anger down on herself.

"I'll have to remember to send flowers," she muses, feigning disinterest.

A humorless chuckle escaped the god's mouth at the term that the goddess had used as a slight towards him. Since she made herself comfortable on his couch, Ares went to the chair and slouched in it with one leg over the arm. It was how he usually sat on his thrones in his temples. "Haven't you heard?" He arched a brow. "She's not my keeper anymore."

Ingnoring the other barb as it was true. He wasn't pleased in the slightest. Over the years Ares had done his damnedest to see to the brat's destruction. He wasn't above killing off one of his own offspring to see to the other's death. Yet, somehow, the parasite survived. The one thing the god had going for him was that there was no godly protection on the cur. The ban against killing other gods was out the window when it came to him.

"As for pleased, why would I be? I loathe my brother," the last word oozing hatred. That hadn't always been the case. Not until he decided that it would be fun to broadcast his and Aphrodite's trysts as a pastime for the gods.

She makes a noncommittal noise, watching him walk across to a nearby chair before dropping her gaze to the pile of the upholstery under her hands. Aphrodite distancing herself from Ares explains some of his rancour, and his disdain for the god of smiths explains the rest, though she still wonders what she's missing. His dislike of other deities has never shown this sharply before, or at least not in her presence.

"I've been in the underworld," she reminds him, arching her own brow in response to his quirked expression. "I've hardly heard anything but the endless worrying of nearly every shade not in Tartarus."

She'd be lying if she said the news wasn't just the tiniest bit of a relief. If Aphrodite is no longer his 'keeper', then she no longer has to fear to keep their amorous encounter from her. At least, not for the moment, anyway.

"That much was evident," she drawls, casting a sidelong glance at him as she traces her index finger through the raised velvet-like pile of the fabric. "Though I hardly thought you one to blame a child for its parentage."

It seems just the tiniest bit ironic that he would loathe his own parents so, and yet have no empathy for a child whose parents he hated. Surely he of all people would understand that a child was not only what his parents made him?

"You can hardly blame the boy. He didn't have a choice," she reminds him drily.

Throwing back his head he gave a short bark of mock laughter then narrowed his eyes at the goddess. "Who do you think taught me envy, spite, selfishness, and greed? How to hate??" The look on his face was ugly as he conveyed this. "I learned it from my parents."

Despite how much he loved Aphrodite he did blame her for the existence of her spawn. She had to have wanted it, for it to have been created. And with her husband whom she was supposed to have despised. He knew how a child of theirs would grow up. Ares motives weren't altruistic in the slightest. He would readily admit it was to serve his own purposes.

"Can you see what Olympus would make him? Petty, selfish, and just as full of hubris as the rest of us."

From his failed attempts on the brat's life he could see some of those qualities already. It just proved that some traits despite what Persephone thought were ingrained and the gods were born with them already. Not to mention if the demon spawn was brought up to Olympus and given his deity back, Zeus would have to find a title for him. Just want they needed. The deviant had no place among the gods.

"Just as much of a tool of dear old dad," he muttered darkly to himself.

His sharp bark of laughter contrasts chillingly with the dark expression on his face. She knows all too well where he learned all those things because she learned them the same way. The lessons might have manifested differently, but they affected her nonetheless.

Maybe he has a point, but it doesn't matter in the slightest. From Dionysus to Athena, new gods have always come and gone, making space for themselves in the Pantheon and learning the political sports of Olympus.

So what makes this new deity so different in his eyes?

"And what?" she asks, bouncing one foot in time to a soundless beat as she thinks. "You would have the boy raised elsewhere to prevent him from becoming like us?"

There is true malice in his grumblings, but she fails to see what good it would do to keep the boy away from his parents. Then he'd grow up lost and a danger to himself, regardless of what traits he learned or developed. Better that he be on Olympus than below where he could cause unimaginable chaos.

"I've never known you to be one to spare those you dislike from punishment," she says, canting her head to the side and letting her gaze wander from him to her surroundings. "You make no secret of loathing the child, and yet you claim that your motivation is to keep him from becoming a tool of the lord of thunder?"

"Yes!" He practically snarled before regaining his composure and slouching against the chair. He would see the spawn of Hephaestus raised anywhere but Olympus. Anywhere where he wouldn't be influenced and infected by the Olympians especially the brat's father. He had no illusions of what might have happened. There was no question that even if the child had brought husband and wife closer, Hephaestus and/or the Olympians would turn the boy against his mother at the least.

"You wound me," he mocked, hand going to his chest where his heart was. His face distorted with his mixed emotions before it settled on resentment. "I may loathe the brat's existance but even I wouldn't want an untried, unknown deity, whose powers we don't know the extent of, in my parent's hands."

If she thought the Trojan War had been aweful or any of the others that had the Olympians taking sides, this would be worse. It was assumed that the latest 'great' prophecy had to do with a brat of one of the 'Big Three'. There were lesser prophecies that could prove just as hazardous. And who was to say that Aphrodite's child would play a role even minor in the one the Olympians were dreading? Who was to say the brat would turn on the gods that spawned him and ally with the titans?

Truly insulted at her last comment he scowled. He could be kind...when he wanted to.

Her lips twist slightly as she dips her head to acknowledge his point. An unknown entity in the hands of the world's worst father would likely be disastrous no matter what that entity's powers were. The king of gods could turn anything into an advantage for himself if given enough time, and then anyone could find themselves in the crosshairs of his schemes and newfound tool.

Her expression becomes more amused when she turns her gaze back to him and finds a scowl on his face, as though he was serious about her comment 'wounding' him. She's half tempted to laugh, given how much he looks like a child sulking after being told he's been misbehaving.

She's hardly wrong in her skepticism. Ares will always put himself first, the same way the sun will always rise in the east and set in the west, which isn't to say that he's incapable of being kind. However, his kindness will always come with a price or will benefit him, which, in her opinion, makes it something to scruitinize very carefully and not take for granted. Because what benefits Ares often comes with unpleasant side-effects for everyone else.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize kindness was something you deigned to care about," she says drily, her eyebrow maintaining its arch as she studies his insouciant position in his chair. His relaxed posture contrasts with the scowl on his face, further adding to the 'scolded child' imagery in her mind.

Though her acknowledgement was brief and had he not been watching her, he would have missed the slight incline of her head, Ares counted it as a win. His eyes lit with satisfaction that she could see as well as he about how disastrous the child could be. Especially if the deviant ended up in the clutches of dear old dad. The man knew how to manipulate people and find ways to use them without them knowing that was what he was doing. Each of the Olympian's had learned that trait to varying degrees. Some either soaked up the lessons or disregarded them. Ares had been one of the former at first believing he could please his father that way until he learned the allure of manipulation and how heady the sensation could be. He'd been hooked from that point on.

"I'm glad you find it all so amusing," he stated with a bit of a downturn of his lips showing he wasn't thrilled in the slightest about her questioning him. While he would admit that he didn't care much for hardly anything. And when he was being 'kind' it was usually all an act. At her next statement, he nearly smirked. The color of his eyes darkened as he recalled exactly what kind of passion he had shown to the death goddess.

Sliding his leg off the arm of the chair, he straightened and gazed at his uninvited guest with a slight leer. "Would you like to test that theory of yours out?"

He knew that she believed the only things he actually cared about was war, sowing chaos, and his next tryst with his keeper. While he would admit that was the core of what he enjoyed doing, he wouldn't be the god of war if he didn't enjoy his job. Yet, just like some of the others, his personality had shifted, changed and had elements added as they moved their power base and incorporated aspects of the culture they were currently ruling. It was either change, ossify, or fade. At times it felt as if he was ossifying, and it was those times that Ares would introduce a bit of mayhem into the gods' lives.

The expression he caught from Persephone at his question had him full on smirking causing his eyes to light up. Even when they were arguing as now, and he was sure she would gladly kill him if she could, he yearned for this. Just as he was sure that he could, if he was careful, get her to come around to his way of thinking. Whether it was about the mongrel, or their previous activities, he wasn't quite sure.

Her wording trips her up, causing memories to spring unbidden into her mind. They're not unpleasant, just poorly timed, and she brushes them away between one blink and the next. Still, her face must have given her away because Ares' lips bend into a full-on smirk that has her wishing she could wipe the expression off of his face.

He's shifted out of his slouch, his posture much more intent as he seems to study her. He's still leering, innuendo dripping from his words, but there's a tension in the air that tells her she ought to choose her words with more care than usual.

Part of her wants to laugh - perhaps a remnant of her earlier manic glee - at his blatant attempts to bait her, though the other half is mired in annoyance. Does he ever think about anything but that?

"Theory?" Her tone is blandly amused as she replies, a huff of a laugh punctuating the end of her query. "About what? That you would lower yourself in such a way?" She laughs, shaking her head.

"No, I think I already know the answer to that particular line of inquiry. No testing required." It's her turn to smirk, though the expression is weighted with sarcasm rather than implication. "It would hardly be productive."

The humor never left his eyes, although they did darken a bit as a bit of anger was added. So she wished to play it that way then so be it. Giving her a cold smile that showed that he knew only he found amusement, he stated, "Don't insult yourself so, highness. Just because you live in the Underworld doesn't make you lower."

Tilting his head, he mused, "Are you so sure it was hardly productive?"

If they were mortal, he knew that by now he would have been dead a hundred times over for things he's done and said. This, would have been one of them. Having only witnessed her violent side once, he was tempted to see just how much it took to see her snap. Everyone had a violent side to them, some had a deeper streak then others. While Persephone's seemed to take on words rather than physical aspect, it was still just as fascinating to him.

There's something about his languid implication that sparks her temper. He's probably done it on purpose, but she suddenly doesn't care. Damn right she isn't lower - better the queen of the dead than a warmongering scoundrel.

Fighting the urge to bare her teeth, she gives him a tight smile. "Productive implies that something useful actually came of it," she counters sweetly, shifting to tuck her legs up under her and folding her hands in her lap. "It seems to me that the only thing that came of it - as per usual - was more of a mess for everyone else to clean up."

She wishes she were faster, if only so that she might actually have a chance to get close enough to swat the look of amusement off of his face before he could react. Her words, sharp as she can make them, will doubtless have a very little effect on him, and she wishes that there was something she could do about him being so damn smug.

"Such diversions are hardly worth pursuing when there's so much else to be done these days," she adds, letting a touch of prim haughtiness seep into her tone.

Arching a brow, he couldn't help but watch her legs and made herself more comfortable on his couch. The temptation to invade her space tried to intrude, but he ignored its nudges for now. His expression and attitude shifted to state he was challenging her response. Did she really want to say such a thing? Leaning back into his chair completely at ease, he lazily gestured to her. "Oh no? Are you saying you didn't learn anything from our game together? How sad," he mocked.

Unsure if she was implying that he had been a diversion for her own boredom or if she had been his diversion. It really hardly mattered. The gods continually picked diversions to distract them for moments of their endless boring life. Really, one had to have hobbies or go completely insane and Ares had seen those that had been tormented by the Harpies.

Rolling his eyes a bit annoyed he allowed it to show. His voice dripped sarcasm. "And how's that working out for you?"

If anything the only time they got off their collected asses when something threatens them personally. And even then it was a mess. Just as this whole debacle was proof. A prophecy about a child who could be their salvation or death. What does Olympus do about it? Nothing. They wait rather than choosing an action. Either kill the brat or make him a god. Crises averted.

His attempt at mockery makes her laugh. Learn something? He makes it sound as though she was entirely clueless and he was her long-suffering tutor on the subject. She wasn't entirely inexperienced, and he certainly didn't suffer. No, she got some practice, but it was hardly groundbreaking research.

"Just fine, no thanks to you," she replies coolly, adjusting the fabric of her skirt around her. "Some of us actually have things to do other than causing mayhem."

Yet again she's tempted to simply grab his arm and drag him down to the underworld. He'd only laugh, cracking jokes about how she once threatened to throw him out herself. At least until she threw him into the throne room full of upset shades and bolted the door behind him.

It would serve him right and be absolutely hilarious, even if she'd need Konan's help to even get him out of his doorway.

"I'm sure it's all well and good for you," she adds as sarcasm begins to slip into her tone. "Given that it seems you have nothing better to do at any time anyway."

"Is that what its called?" He asked in an indiscernible tone as his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. The whole time he hadn't looked away from her, keeping his attention focused on the woman. Granted, her movements had him glancing at other parts of her body, but now they didn't stray from her eyes. Because he knew it was expected of him and because it was in his nature, his mouth curved into a lascivious smirk. "We both know you enjoyed it as much as I did. In fact, I recall an invite to a possible repeat of said mayhem."

That chance had been ruined when he'd given her the friendly heads up of course. Diverging from his usual disposition and it led to it biting him on the ass. And she wondered why he was the type to save his own skin first. At the reminder though that he supposedly had nothing better to do with his time, he gave a sharp bark of laughter full of the contempt he felt for that line of thinking. It shouldn't surprise him that they all thought that.

"I'm the god of war, I'm always in demand." As long as human kind persisted in trying to wipe themselves off the face of the earth, Ares would be busy. Not like the rest of the gods understood the intricacies that actually went into his job and keeping a sort of balance. He was just a blood thirsty lout, what did he know?

"Whatever," he waved off her jab. If she wanted to wear the pants and shoulder the responsibility, then she and her husband had more problems than the other gods were aware of. He'd known that his uncle's brat had caused a stir and had caused a very loud council. One which Ares had sat back and soaked up the anger being thrown around. It had been settled. Or so he'd thought. Apparently he'd been wrong and the brat was causing even more trouble. That was actually very amusing.

"How is it my fault if you don't get along with junior?" That was the whole reason she invaded his room wasn't it?

That smirk is back on his lips, and she has to roll her eyes. It was enjoyable - she never denied it - but the side effects of their encounter make it less than worthwhile. Everything had been fine until he'd felt the need to remind her of his oh-so-clever machinations. It had seemed like a warning at the time, but in hindsight, she's sure he was just the tiniest bit tempted to show off too.

Shrugging, she studies him. His expression is unreadable, save for the smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. What she wouldn't give for some kind of understanding of how his brain worked - maybe then she'd be able to leave well enough alone and put some distance between the two of them. Maybe then she'd be able to figure out why she kept playing along in their little game and stop herself.

"It's not," she says simply, propping her chin on the heel of her hand. "My relationship with my husband's offspring has nothing to do with you."

"What does have to do with you is the fact that you can't seem to contain your messes lately," she continues, lips parting to show her teeth in a sharp smile. "That's my problem. I keep paying the price for your mistakes, and I've had quite enough."